Help Me Through
by MidnightIndigo
Summary: ...because I can't make it without you.  Based on Kill Shot promo, may contain mild spoilers.  T for safety.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey everybody, it's been a while, I know. I've been having writer's block for a few months, which sucks. Luckily the promo for Kill Shot brought ideas to my head and I wrote this about a week ago and finally had time to type it up and post it. Hope you enjoy it. :)**

**Disclaimer: Don't own it, which sucks, because all these spoilers for Kill Shot are awful when you can't see it for three more days.**

**Title: Help Me Through**

It was silent in the bullpen when Castle entered, holding two coffees, far too silent for his taste. "Hey! I think I figured out how he's getting to these places that's he's shooting from—where's Beckett?"

Ryan was on the phone and looked serious, so Esposito glanced up at him and answered, "Gates sent her home when she closed up shop last night, told her not to come in today. Apparently she wanted to pull an all-nighter and Gates wouldn't let her. She must've been pretty gone though, because Gates wouldn't even let her drive, made her take a cab."

"Oh no," Castle moaned, setting one of the cups down and whipping out his phone.

Ryan hung up and frowned over at him. He seemed exhausted, and Castle couldn't help but remember that Ryan had people to worry about too. "What?"

"Come on, pick up, pick up," Castle muttered, brow furrowed. When it went to voicemail he swore, spinning around and running a hand through his hair in frustration. "She's not picking up!"

"She's probably still sleeping," Esposito shrugged. "It's only nine, and she was exhausted."

"When has that ever stopped her?" he asked. "I guarantee you that she didn't sleep at all. I can't believe Gates sent her home alone... Montgomery would've known that that wouldn't have stopped her..." He shoved his phone back into his pocket and dropped the drinks in front of the boys. "Here, coffee, on the house, for NYPD's finest. I'll see you both later."

He knocked heavily on the door, the huge bang his fist created echoing in the small hallway. "Beckett? Beckett!"

There was no answer, no noise inside the apartment. "Kate! Please let me in!"

He waited a full minute before turning and running back down the three flights of stairs, bypassing the elevator for the route that required less patience. He ran to the doorman, who seemed entirely unperturbed.

"Hello, Mr. Castle," he greeted him.

Castle was very glad the man knew him by sight. "Hey, Tom, I need to get into Kate's apartment. Can you...do you have..."

"Sorry, Mr. Castle, I don't have a key or anything, you'd have to talk to the landlady. She's the only one with an extra set of keys. She's out right now, she should be back in an hour, maybe?"

Castle hissed. "I can't wait that long! Did you see Kate come home last night?"

Tom shook his head. "Wasn't on duty last night, I only just got on shift around eight."

Castle tried very hard to quell his panic. "Okay, well, have a nice day." He patted him on the shoulder and raced back up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

He banged on her door again, more desperate than before. "Kate! I will knock down this door if you don't open it-"

He paused, thinking, then whipped out his wallet to get his lock pick. Manipulating the handle, he jiggled it until it clicked and he was able to open it and stumble into the apartment. As soon as he'd gotten inside, he stopped dead.

The blinds had been shut and taped to the windows. The couch was completely bare, it's pillows and cushions strewn below it on the floor. There was an array of broken glass on the coffee table, several shards stained crimson with blood.

"Oh dear god," he whispered, stopping to pick up one of the stained shards. The red came off on his fingers but still colored the jagged edge, partially dry but still slightly liquefied. Where had the blood come from? Was she hurt? She wasn't anywhere in sight, not in the living room or the kitchen—he even checked the coat closet, but she was nowhere to be found in the general area of her apartment.

She had to be here somewhere; he walked hesitantly toward the bedroom. On one hand, she could've been watching a movie with the blinds shut so she could see, and maybe she'd dropped the glass and it slipped and cut her hand and was washing the injury, in which case she'd shoot him if he stepped foot into that bedroom. On the other hand, something much worse could've been wrong. Images of her lying on the floor with bloody slashes through her body rose to the front of his mind, and he almost threw up his breakfast. He could see her terrified and alone, and he took a deep breath to push down the images and stepped inside. If it wasn't as bad as he'd thought, he would explain it to her and hopefully she'd put her gun away.

Not in the bedroom, which was also devoid of light due to the heavy curtains that had been drawn tightly against it. The light was on in the bathroom, but he didn't hear any sound coming from it. The optimist in him wanted to believe she was fixing a band-aid onto her fingers, but the piece of him that dealt with worse-case scenarios told him something was terribly wrong—he could feel it in the pit of his stomach, terror that welled up inside of him as he laid a hand on the doorknob. Steeping himself, he turned it and opened the door slowly, in case she was on the other side of the door, and also so he wouldn't startle her.

If it was possible his heart clenched even more the moment he saw her. Legs curled up to her chest and curls tossed around her shoulders messily, she still wore the same thing she'd had on the day before, missing only her heels. The holster on her hip was empty, her weapon thrown onto the white tile. Her right arm looked as though it had been gnawed by a shark, the skin bloody and shredded. She grasped tightly to her knees with the other, but that arm was held gingerly, the grip now as strong. Her entire body trembled, and her mascara had been smeared around her eyes, wide with fear, by dried tears.

She didn't try to push herself up, to make herself seem strong in front of him, which was the thing that broke his heart more than anything else he'd seen since he'd entered. Since he'd met her she'd only tried to hide her weaknesses from him. The fact that she was too weak to maintain that one shield she'd never dropped shocked and scared him more than anything.

"Kate," he breathed, sinking down in front of her. "Oh, God, Kate..."

A choked sob escaped her. "I...I slipped," she whimpered.

She wasn't talking about falling onto the broken glass; she had lost that delicate hold on normalcy she'd had for so long since her mother's death, and the thread keeping it together had only worn thinner after her shooting, finally snapping with this case.

"Please, Kate, let me bandage that, you need to wash it..." He tried to take her hand to pull her bloodied arm away from her, but she helped and pulled it back.

"No," she moaned, tears forming in her eyes. He was torn between needing to help her and not wanting to hurt her, and right now she was hurting and he couldn't do anything about it but prevent more hurt. But she couldn't stay sitting here on the cold bathroom floor.

"Please, Kate," he repeated, agonized that he had to make this choice. "You can't stay in here, let's go out into the family room-"

"No!" she cried out. "No, the windows, there are windows, all around, he can see through windows, he can find me out there..." As she spoke her voice dropped down to a whisper. She met his eyes, brokenness in her green irises. "Please don't make me go out there," she breathed.

"Okay, okay, just let me clean your arm, okay! If you don't get it under the sink I have to get a washcloth, and rubbing it will make it hurt so much worse." He felt like he was dealing with a hurt child as he lifted her up and led her to the sink, one hand on her left elbow, the other at her back. She sunk into him, as though pulling away from the sink and the water as she walked. He tried to ignore it as he turned on the faucet and lifted her limp forearm under the stream of water, and she whimpered as the liquid hit. It turned red as it ran down the drain, trickling down the sides of the stainless steel basin. He let her skin dry and then wrapped it with the bandage he found in the medicine cabinet. Once he finished, he slipped down against the wall where she had been, pulling her down to cradle her on his lap. She didn't seem to have the will to move on her own, and she allowed him to guide her to sit against him, supporting her when she couldn't support herself. He positioned her so they were both comfortable and it frustrated him that she offered no resistance, acquiescing instantly to his every move. He tucked her head into the groove of his neck, sweeping a hand through her hair and along her jaw, finally meeting his other hand so his arms encircled her shoulders, fingers clasped together tightly.

He had to talk to her, figure out what had happened, but now wasn't the time. He had a stern speech for her, but it could wait. Right now he had to make sure she was okay, figure out how she had allowed herself to fall this far. He hoped she would wake up and yell at him for breaking into her apartment, but even sleep was not going to heal her that much.

He rocked her to sleep gently and her shuddering breaths faded to normal, and she seemed to sleep dreamlessly, for which he was grateful—the last thing she needed was nightmares.

He knew what had driven her to the windowless room, and it wasn't just fear of a serial killer. 3XK, Scott Dunn, even Lockwood, they hadn't left her crying on the floor, completely irrational. This more than any other case was personal in a way that no other had been.

And it meant she had lied to him.

He wasn't hurt at the revelation, wasn't at all angry. "Please, Kate," he whispered again, kissing her forehead as she slept. "Please trust me enough to help you through this. Don't push me away. Maybe you do actually remember, and maybe this is the one thing you forgot, but...I love you."

He held her there until he too fell asleep.

**A/N: Well, I hope it was okay and in character, I think I might be a bit rusty. But I think it turned out well. *bites lip nervously* Leave me a review to let me know what you thought? **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: EDIT: By popular demand this is no longer a one-shot, so here's the second chapter. However, this goes back to the night before the first chapter, so they're a bit out of order. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own it.**

"Beckett."

It took a few tries for her to even blink, let alone respond. "Beckett!"

She jumped and looked around. The Captain stood over her desk, the only person in sight. Outside the windows was complete blackness, which caused her to shiver. What could be lurking beyond the glass…"

Kate blinked and shook herself. Nothing was lurking. _It__'__s__just__another__case,_ she told herself for what was perhaps the hundredth time that day. _Just__another__case._ Maybe deep down she knew:

It wasn't.

She blinked up at the Captain. "I'm shutting down for the night," Gates informed her.

"Okay, well, have a nice night," Kate replied with a polite but forced smile. "I'm going to keep-"

"No, Detective," Gates snapped, pulling the pen out of her hands. "I'm shutting everything down for the night, including you. Get your coat and take off. I'll call you a cab; you're too tired to drive." She dropped the pen into the coffee mug on the desk, giving her a pointed stare.

Kate opened her mouth to reply, but it took her a few moments to formulate words into sentences. "With all due respect, sir-"

"You will respectfully obey my orders and go home, now. Come on, Beckett. Lights are going out."

Gates stalked over to the row of light switches on the wall. Only two sets were on, and she flickered them several times to make her point. Kate groaned and stretched, pulling her coat off her chair and slipping into it. She grabbed her keys and phone off the desk and walked past Gates, scowling as they got into the elevator together.

On the street Gates called a cab and ordered Kate into it. "Go home and don't come back until you've slept, got it?" Gates said, as Kate opened the car door and started to climb in.

Kate nodded, too annoyed even to respond verbally, and gave the cabbie the address.

When they got to the apartment she got out, paying quickly and looking around nervously. It was late, who knew what could be out on the streets, watching and waiting for her…

She hurried inside without even nodding to the door man. The elevator took too long but at least it was closed; no one else but her. She got to her floor and almost dropped her key in her haste, but managed to get inside and lock the door.

Turning, she tripped over to the couch and dropped onto it, pulling the blanket thrown over the back around her. "I'm safe," she whispered to herself. "I'm safe and no one can get to me. "I'm safe, okay?"

Then she glanced behind her and screamed.

The windows, they were open, someone could see her, he could see her, could find her, _could__kill__her_-

She threw the blanket away, scrambling to her feet to run to the kitchen, searching through drawers, open, _slam,_ open, _slam,_until she found the silver roll and ran to the windows, hiding behind the wall as she taped up the blinds, every small opening. _He__can__see__through__windows__he__can__see__through__them__he__can__see__me-_

She finished every window and sprinted back into the kitchen, dropping the duct tape onto the counter and pulling out a glass and a bottle from the refrigerator, dropping onto her hands and knees to crawl below the counter, straightening in terror at the sound of footsteps in the hallway and slamming her head against the counter. She hissed and sank down on the floor, back against the cabinets. Rubbing her head, she moved to sit against the couch. She watched the glass fill with amber liquid and downed it all in one gulp, then repeated the action. _Oh,__God,__the__monsters__are__coming.__He__'__s__coming._

Another glass.

She looked around the apartment, head jerking anxiously. Everything looked out of place, someone had already been here, he'd bugged the place, there had to be cameras, she had to find them but she couldn't move or she'd be a target—_he__wasn__'__t__coming__…__he__'__d__already__been__here__…_

She threw back her head to take another drink.

Had he planted a bomb? Was someone in the closet? Someone was waiting for her, waiting for her to sleep so he could creep up and drive a dagger through her chest, through her heart. She knew how this went, had seen enough to know. But the joke was on the man waiting; she wasn't going to fall asleep. She would stay awake forever. Gates wouldn't know that she hadn't slept, it would be fine.

She took another swig.

_Crash._ When her hand came down on the table with the glass it slipped; the glass shattered and her arm slammed into it. She cried out in pain as she lifted it to see shining glittering shards embedded in her skin, already stained with blood. She pulled one out, then another, gasping as her movements became more frantic. The red transparent pieces lie around the base of the cup, broken into several large pieces. Tears dripped down her face but she barely noticed. She succeeded in removing all of them and picked up the bottle itself, drinking from the neck. It hadn't been full to begin with but it was gone far too soon; she tilted it all the way upside down.

A car outside on the street honked and she leapt up, dashing back into the kitchen. She dropped the bottle into the trash as she passed and flew into the bedroom, instantly throwing the heavy drapes closed. She flung herself into the bathroom onto the floor, crawling into the corner. _Oh__God,__oh__God,__oh__God__…_

Safe for now, she kicked her heels off; she could use them to throw at an attacker. The gun on her hip remained in its place, but she kept a hand on it.

Her breathing hard, eyes terrified, she waited there, in that position, hours going by what felt like days. No more sounds, no more windows. She was safe here, safe from it all. Except for the memories which flashed through her mind—of the victims lying on the sidewalk, thrown aside and forgotten, of the gun in that room, of hospital walls for weeks and weeks, alone without her partner. Of grass and headstones and trees and blue skies, of stained white gloves and piercing bullets and chaos and confusion and terror, the same terror as now. Of Castle's head blocking the sunk, forming a bright halo of light.

A loud knock echoed into the bathroom, someone at the door. She drew the gun from its holster, unsteady in her destroyed right hand. On top of the injury her whole body shook, left hand trying to support it but just as bad. Then she heard the voice.

"Beckett? Beckett!" More knocking, more insistence. "Kate, please let me in!"

Her grip relaxed. The gun fell to the bathroom tile. She drew her legs up to her chest, holding onto them with her left hand, right held loosely above her knees to minimize the pain. _Castle,__he__'__s__here._ She wanted to let him in but she would have to walk through, passing the windows, and then she would die. And he couldn't come in, or he was going to die too. She couldn't let…couldn't lose him…

She didn't cry out, didn't make a sound. Maybe he would go away and only one of them would die. He wouldn't have to.

But five minutes later he was back, still banging frantically on the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: For some reason hasn't been letting me reply to reviews, so I apologize if you didn't get a review. I just wanted to thank everyone who reviewed and favorited and alerted this story because it means a ton to me. :)**

**Diclaimer: Don't own 'em.**

He woke at a slight movement. His back ached from resting against the bathtub and the cold of the tile had made it through his jeans to soak into his skin, chilling him all the way through. She counteracted the cold, heavy in his arms. Warm.

His eyelids had trouble opening, stuck together by sleep, but when he opened them he blinked at the light that he'd left on. He adjusted and looked down at the woman lying broken in his lap. Her bandaged arm lied gingerly over her legs, and he knew it would be sore when she woke. Her face was peaceful, thank God, eyelashes still and lips parted slightly. She had shifted slightly, sliding against his arm, which had woken him.

Perhaps he could lift her and carry her to the bed just in the other room, so she could get some decent sleep on a mattress. God knew she needed it. But the moment he tried to shift position to snake his arms under her to pick her up, her eyes fluttered. "Castle?" she murmured, voice heavy with sleep. "What's going on?"

"I'm going to put you in your bedroom, alright?" he said quietly. "Go back to-"

But as soon as the words processed she shrieked and kicked out. "No, NO! I'm not safe in there, please, stay here, I can't go out there-"

He sat back down and she relaxed, looking up at him fearfully, eyes wide. He couldn't let her stay in a six-foot by six-foot bathroom, but until he could calm her down and ensure her safety what was he supposed to do?

"Kate," he said lowly. "You can't stay here, okay? You can't stay in here forever."

She shook her head. "The windows-"

"My God, Kate, are you going to hide from the sun forever?" he asked in exasperation.

"Not…the sun…" She took a shuddering breath; he could feel her pulse speed up under the fingers spread over her back. "_Him_."

She looked utterly terrified, and he had no idea how to placate her. "The sniper?"

She yelped and threw one arm around him, burying her face in his neck. Between them he could feel her other arm, the injured one, and realized with absolute certainty that her hand was pressed against her scars. "No," she sobbed. "_Make__him__go__away_."

"Esposito and Ryan are working on it right now," he reminded her quickly. "They're going to find the guy, they're very good."

"They couldn't find him…they couldn't find him the first time…_I_couldn't find him the first time… He's going to kill every person in the city and then he's going to kill me and I can't stop him…"

He turned his head to the side slightly so he could kiss her temple for comfort; as he had the night before, he dealt with her as he would with Alexis when she was younger and had nightmares—when she'd been completely irrationally terrified of the monsters and the dark.

He snaked one hand into his pocket to retrieve his phone, shooting off a quick text to Esposito: _Please__tell__me__you__caught__the__shooter._Then he set the phone on silent and laid it face up on the floor so he'd be able to see if the guys texted him back without having it vibrate or ring and spook her.

Luckily the reply was pretty quick. _Not__yet,__he__'__s__slippery.__Where__have__you__been?_

The only response he allowed them was, _GET__HIM_, and he returned his full attention to the detective using him as a rock, the one solid in her current storm. "Kate," he tried again slowly. "I need you to try. You need to fight this. All the blinds are closed; he can't see you. You'll be okay, and I'll be right here. Do you think you can handle that?"

Her messy curls scratched his chin as she shook her head, but he slowly pushed himself up with his feet, back pressed against the wall as he rose, bringing her with him. She sobbed more now, continuously, which broke his heart all over again, but he took a step towards the door, then another, walking her with him.

"Don't worry," he murmured as they stepped out of the bathroom. She was shaking but his hands were steady on her back. He used a tactic he'd often employed with Alexis, simultaneously hoping it would work and praying she hadn't lost this much rationale in her panic attack. "If you can't see him, he can't see you."

"He can always see me," she whispered, and his heart sank. "He always knows where I am, and he can always get to me if he can see through the windows…"

He glanced toward the windows, then down at her. She was quite a bit shorter than him with her shoes lying abandoned in the bathroom. "The blinds are closed, look. You closed them already. And here." As he walked he rotated so that he was walking backwards and she was following. "Now I'm in the way. He'll have to go through me to get to you."

If anything, this last bit was worse than anything else; she screamed and, with strength she seemed to have recovered over the day of sleep, she dragged him behind the bed, crouching in her makeshift hiding place. "I can't…" She shivered worse than ever. "You can't get hurt for me!"

Her shrill voice rang in his head. What was the meaning of that? "Kate, please, you need to listen to me," he said, caressing her cheek with his fingers, wiping aside the tear tracks. "You need to sleep on a real bed, okay? Sleeping in a bathtup might be okay if you're Will Smith and you're hiding from zombies…" He looked at her for a laugh in response to his reference, but she just stared at him somberly, and he knew he had lost any contact he'd had with Kate Beckett. It was his turn to choke back a sob. "Kate, please get under the covers."

He reached up and lifted the hastily made sheets for her to crawl under. To his overwhelming relief she did, burrowing tightly into her blankets, still staring down at him with big solemn eyes.

"Don't let him see me," she whispered, before shutting her eyes tightly, crinkled at the corners. Over a few minutes the tension in her face dissolved, and he let out a breath. He stood and walked around to the other side and settling gently beside her, on top of the blankets, laying an arm gently over her shoulder and cradling her head with the other. It would be numb when he woke up, he knew, but it didn't matter. And as easy as it had been for her to drift to sleep, he lay there for what felt like hours, kept awake by the image of her terror.

Had she…retrogressed in the hours they'd been asleep, or had it been his imagination? She'd seemed even more irrational and locked out of reality then she had when he'd first entered the apartment. That scared him. Why had she only moved backwards? He would have to talk her out of this the next time she woke, before it became even harder to control.

She moved closer to him in her sleep, her back pressed lightly against his chest. The arm over her shoulder held her hand and stoked the back softly. He needed her to get better, to recover from this, because he could handle the woman who was always two steps ahead of him, whom he swore he would always be chasing because she was stubborn and sometimes he didn't think she would ever give in. But this woman was someone different altogether. He had seen her scared before, and she had projected all of her fear into anger and resistance and refusal to give in, throwing everything into work. She had never allowed it to consume her. That wasn't Kate Beckett—it was a different person entirely.

And whatever demons had possessed her and taken over her control, he was going to drive them out with everything he had.

**A/N: I'm not entirely sure whether or not I'll continue past this or not. I know there's not much of a resolution, but I don't quite know how I'd write one without this turning into an entire full-length story, which I wouldn't be able to work on at the moment. Hope you enjoyed this anyways, and let me know what you thought. :)**

**Indy**


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